


I Know Where I Need To Be

by katebishoop



Series: tumblr prompts [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Future Fic, Seduction Plans, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 23:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5804392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katebishoop/pseuds/katebishoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re going to get stabbed if you keep this up.” Lincoln is at his side now.</p><p>They are both looking at Clarke across the camp, she’s helping the women make bandages, but she keeps glancing at both of them with eyes narrowed. He can tell she’s getting frustrated.</p><p>“I’m hoping for a different reaction,” Bellamy says.</p><p>Lincoln clamps a hand onto his shoulder, “she’ll probably do both.”</p><p>“And you’re probably right.”</p><p>----</p><p>Bellamy Blake had a master plan to woo Clarke Griffin. It may or may not be falling apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Know Where I Need To Be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rashaka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rashaka/gifts).



> **Rashaka asked:** bellarke prompt: Bellamy's grand seduction plan involved a week or two of escalating kisses delivered at random intervals, so that in any given conversation she'd never know whether they were going to make out or not. If he knew anything about Clarke, it's that she did not handle frustration well, or conspiracies. "You're going to get stabbed if you keep this up," Lincoln warned, but right now Clarke was staring at him with deep annoyance, so in Bellamy's opinion the plan was going great.
> 
> This went off in a couple of different directions, but I tried okay.

Bellamy and Clarke had always been a pair for casual touches. Back when they first got to the ground after agreeing to work together, they were for reassurance, and support; a gentle squeeze of the shoulder, a hand on a knee.

The touches intensified after thinking the other was dead but the finding out the relieving truth: a strong embrace with a running start, arms clutched like a vice; or, the intermingling of voices through static, desperate for confirmation. A verbal pat on the back: _you came through_.

Then they were heavy: pulling the lever, atlas hands clasped over each other as they held up the sky and guided the souls to the deep.

Then they were broken: an embrace, a plea, a final moment, a kiss on the cheek, a last look. A parting, a promise: _may we meet again_.

* * *

After being apart for months, Bellamy was much more aware of just how much he touched Clarke. It was no longer purely unconscious in his decisions to rest a hand on her shoulder or against the small of her back. Just fingerings brushing past each other during the day.

A reassurance for Clarke: that he is there for her when she needs him. A reassurance for him: that she is still there.

But Bellamy was also aware of how his touches affected Clarke. He noticed more red in her cheeks, more small, shy smiles; he noticed how she would twirl her hair around a finger and get flustered, tripping over her words. How she seemed to reach for him after he let go, like she missed the contact. He also noticed that she watched him from across the courtyard more when she thought he wasn’t looking.

There is love behind every action he takes with Clarke, and Bellamy was starting to think that maybe it was like that for her, when it came to him, too.

* * *

They were in a ghost town.

It was another mapping run, one Bellamy had done dozens of times before, but this time was Clarke was with them, and it felt right.

But this place didn’t feel right at all.

They were exploring a mountain region to the North, way out past Mount Weather. There were remnants of stone buildings, spread out around a courtyard. There were a few huge polls in the air that went further into the mountains, a few of them were knocked down.

Vines covered everything, a bit of life against the dead, dull, grey.

Bellamy reached over and took Clarke’s hand.

He didn’t look over at her, but he could see her out of the corner of his eyes that she had turned to look at him. She squeezed his hand.

They split up into teams to explore, and Bellamy pulls Clarke along, never letting go of her hand.

He and Clarke enter one of the buildings and Bellamy has to bring out his flashlight in order for them to see. Clarke takes the lead through the structure; most of the stuff is scattered  and broken and chewed on, covered in mold and cobwebs. Yet something in one of the back rooms catches Clarke’s eye, and her jerking forward almost frees her hand from his, but he holds onto it firmly.

“I think I know what this place is.” Clarke says as she picks up something covered in cobwebs, she coughs as she brushes it away. It’s some kind of plank, with a curved tip and something that looks like a shoe protruding from the center. “We’re at a ski resort.”

Back on the Ark, Bellamy didn’t really dive into… whatever it was that ski resorts fell under. It was either entertaining Octavia, helping his mother, training for the guard, or getting lost in mythology books.

Clarke’s eyes widened at his expression, “Skiing, it’s a sport. People would strap one of these to each feet and ride in a big chair lift up a snowy mountain and ride these down.”

Bellamy blinked at her, “That sounds fake, but okay…”

Clarke took her hand away from Bellamy’s so that she could pick up the other, “Come on, let’s gather some of the undamaged stuff and head back.”

Bellamy was upset at the loss of contact, but as they scavenged he kept gravitating towards her whenever she wandered off; a hand to her back, steady ones on her shoulders when she stumbled from yanking something too hard.

And when they were back in the truck, he sat next to her and took her hand again, holding it out of sight between his thigh and hers. He stroked little circles with his thumb onto the back of her hand the whole way back home.

* * *

It had been a long day. They deserved a drink, and Bellamy… he had had several.

He was thankful for the warm, happy, fuzzy feeling that filled him. Usually him getting drunk involved sulking, punching, and occasionally crying. But Bellamy had been in a good mood despite his aching muscles and the shouting matches he had over the council table that morning.

He was more buzzed than anything, a little wobbly, but he was coherent, if he did say so himself.

He caught sight of her sitting by the fire on a log across from Lincoln and Monty and Miller, and he managed to get over to her without spilling the drink in his hand.

“You could use a drink,” he says, his body skimming her side as he sat down way closer than he normally would.

Clarke smiled fondly and pushed away the cup, “I think you’ve had enough for me.”

Bellamy pouts dramatically, and he gets a laugh out of her, and he can’t help but grin as he downs the drink in his hand. It burns his throat, but the warmth and fuzziness spreads and he can’t stop smiling.

“You’ve had enough for both of us, then.” Clarke says, taking the cup from his hand and placing it down on the ground by her foot.

Bellamy groans loudly, and then throws his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close and nudging his face against her hair.

He catches Lincoln’s eye across the fire - an eyebrow raises, then so does he and leaves in the general direction that Monty and Miller had gone moments before.

Clarke is laughing, and relaxed and that fills him with a different kind of fuzziness.

Clarke’s skin has always been cold. Her hands like ice, frozen to the bone, and it makes people jump sometimes when she makes contact. Clarke said she really didn’t notice what everyone was talking about, but that she noticed what they said when they talked about him. She said he was like a furnace, always chugging out heat.

She was warm now. Or at least he was warm, warm enough from giddiness and moonshine and the fire and her smile that he wasn’t affected by her cold skin. (Or maybe, she was affected by him; his match melting her ice).

They stayed like that, Bellamy clutching onto Clarke, saying things to her - things of which, he wasn’t sure, but they were making her smile and laugh, and that’s all that mattered - until the fire turned down low and Clarke decided that she should get him back to his room before he passes out.

“I like this,” Bellamy says as he bobs along, his arm still slung across Clarke’s shoulders. She’s basically holding him up at this point.

“I like it too, it’s nice,” Clarke says, and Bellamy’s grin wide, but then he turns to look at her, and she isn’t smiling, “but you’re drunk, I doubt you’ll remember this in the morning.”

Bellamy stops and sways a bit, but he’s still upright at least, “I’m not drunk,” he says defiantly, “watch.”

He starts walking, one foot in front of the other in a perfect straight line, “See.” But Clarke is laughing, and he frowns, “what?”

“You never let go of me,” Clarke says between laughs, “that doesn’t count.”

“I still say I’m not that drunk.”

“Yeah well,” Clarke stops, they’re at his door now, “get some rest, Bellamy.”

Bellamy rubs his face into her hair again. She smells like pine; it’s nice. “Stay,” he says.

He hears her sharp intake of breath, and  hears her mutter under her breath, _“he’s just drunk, he’s just drunk.”_

Before Bellamy can say anything to the contrary, Clarke turns to him, her expression a mixture of fondness and sadness, and slips out of his arm. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And then she’s gone down the hall, Bellamy’s hand held up in the air after her. He lets it drop down against his side, and he slouches down against his door.

He thinks about her objections: _he’s drunk, he won’t remember it, does he even want this?_ And he thinks about how if those objections were irrelevant, if he wasn’t drunk, if he would remember it, if there was no doubt that he wanted it, she seemed like she would have stayed.

And as it turned out, her objections were irrelevant, anyway.

* * *

He lets her know that first thing when he sees her that morning. She’s eating breakfast at a table with his sister and Lincoln when he spots her. He gets his plate and sits down next to her, as close as before, and swings his arm around her and uses his other arm to take a bite of his eggs.

Octavia narrows his eyes at him while Lincoln’s expression remains neutral, but he doesn’t care about their expressions. It’s Clarke’s that he’s really interested in. Her eyes are wide, dancing around like she’s searching for something.

He grins, and says around a mouthful of eggs, “told you so.”

Clarke blushes immediately, and he hopes she’s remembering when he asked her to stay, because he meant it, one-hundred percent. Clarke goes back to her food though, making no move to shove him off.

He does it all the time then. Whenever he’s near her, he’ll grab her hand, or he’ll sling an arm around her shoulder. Even at council meetings he’ll have his hand holding the back of her chair.

Her surprise waned after the first couple of days, so now when he slung an arm around her she’d immediately lean into his side. Sometimes she’d even snake an arm around his waist when they were sitting down. (And sometimes she would be leaning in his direction before he even got near here, getting ready, always counting on him and knowing what was coming.)

Some people gave them strange looks, like Clarke’s mom and Octavia. When Octavia confronted him about it, he dodged it by throwing his arm around her but pulling her into a friendly-sibling headlock. She dropped it, but still watched him and Clarke closely.

(He was forever grateful that the Chancellor had never come and confronted him.)

Others like Monty, Harper, Raven, and Miller gave them happy looks, like it was normal, them - because, well, it was. He could never read Lincoln at this point.

It was a week and a half later though, when he got to ask her again.

He wasn’t looking for her, and he didn’t even know she’d be out here. But he couldn’t sleep, so he went for a walk along the gate. He caught sight of her right as he was about to head in, so he doubled back. She was by Raven’s gate, looking down at the field below (the same field, where she had killed Finn, he knew she was being reminded of that, how could she not?).

He slides his arm around her when he reaches her; she relaxes and looks up at him for a moment before returning her gaze to the night.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Clarke asks, resigned.

Bellamy squeezes her in response. Clarke lays her head on his shoulder.

“Come on,” he says in a low voice, “we can try.”

Clarke gives him a small nod, as they head back into the remains of Alpha Station Clarke slides her own arm around his waist, her other one coming around his front and resting on his stomach.

He wasn’t necessarily heading to his quarters, specifically, they were just on the way to hers; they stop in front of the door.

Bellamy uses his other hand to touch the one that Clarke has on his stomach.

“Do you want to stay?” He asks.

He knows how hard it is, with the nightmares. His are full of metal collars and needles and his body shrinking and draining, and of small cramped corridors filling up with fire as he can’t crawl away fast enough. Hers, he knows, involve a knife sliding between ribs, and her mother strapped down to that table, and all the people that she saved, and didn’t save. That dining hall full of bodies, that’s in both of theirs.

Clarke gives his chest a squeeze and nods.

They strip down to their shirts and underwear, and he gives Clarke a pair of old gym shorts he acquired to wear over hers. And they lie down next to each other, facing each other on his bed.

He takes her hand and holds it between them.

They manage to sleep without nightmares that night, and when he wakes up, Clarke’s back is to his chest and he’s got an arm around her waist.

Them sleeping together is a regular occurrence after that. Her room sometimes, but it was mostly his. Sometimes he thrashes in his sleep and Clarke would hold him down so he wouldn’t hurt himself; sometimes Clarke would wake up screaming, or gasping for a breath she couldn’t just get, and he’d hold her until she calmed down.

But more often than not they’d have a full night sleep, when they were together. They now get into bed always in the way they woke up: Bellamy, with his body wrapped around Clarke’s.

* * *

The forehead kisses he gives her resulted from those times that she did wake up in a panic attack. He would hold her and rub her back, or rub a hand through hair; he’d press a kiss to her forehead and tell her everything would be alright.

Forehead kisses have a level of severity to them, he’s always giving them to her as a sign of reassurance in times of stress and distress.

Cheek kisses on the other hand, were completely whimsical. They were on the same team in Quarters when it first happened. They had won, because Clarke is a beast at that game, and he had pressed a sloppy kiss to her cheek.

(He’s reminded, and he’s sure she is too, of that kiss on the cheek she gave him before she left;  _may we meet again_ hanging between them like a weight, but not as heavily as all the things left unsaid).

But Clarke isn’t crying, and his heart isn’t breaking. Clarke’s smiling triumphantly, and his heart is soaring.

He does it a lot after that. Mostly in private, though. When they are in his room - which she has officially moved into - lounging in rare moments when they aren’t needed, he’ll absentmindedly kiss her cheek. Or he’ll do it when she says something particularly pleasing, whether about him or their plans, or even when they have to part for whatever reason, he’ll always kiss her cheek goodbye.

Clarke hasn’t complained; it brings a smile to her face every time, but he’s a bit worried because she hasn’t done it back yet.

(Maybe she just can’t bring herself to kiss him goodbye again, even if it is only for a short time).

* * *

This time when he kisses her cheek, it hits the corner of her mouth. It was quick, and chaste, and he’s already headed over to where Raven is waiting for him, but he takes a quick look back and sees Clarke’s still standing there, with a hand raised to her mouth.

“You’re such a tease, Blake,” Raven says in lieu of a greeting.

“Good morning to you, too.” His task for the day is to help Raven with some repairs. He’s mainly there to lift heavy stuff, since Wick now works at the other side of the camp in order to avoid Raven, and also because Raven can barely stand anyone else.

“You guys live together, you’re disgustingly affectionate, and yet you’re still not… a _thing-thing_.”

“We’re a thing,” he says, straight faced, “we’re co-leaders. We’re _partners_.”

Raven rolls her eyes, “there’s multiple meanings to the word _partners_ , you know.”

“I know,” Bellamy says, unable to keep the shiteating grin off his face. Raven sees it and punches his arm.

“You’re a dick.”

“Yeah but you _liked_ -”

“Yeah, yeah, _whatever_ ,” Raven cuts him off, “now lift that big box.”

Bellamy makes a noncommittal noise, but he picks up the box. It’s much heavier than he expected, he can already feel the ache setting into his back. “Where to?”

Raven shrugs and turns away, “Nowhere.”

Bellamy sets the box down with a _thunk_ , “who’s the tease now, Reyes!” He calls after her, and she flips him off over her shoulder.

* * *

Bellamy Blake was _so_ a tease; it was all apart of his master plan to woo Clarke Griffin.

If you wanted something done right, you needed to be prepared. And he had to get this right. Clarke was so much more to him than those one-night stands he had when they first landed. He wanted to make sure that it wouldn’t just be one night; he wanted - he hoped - that she was in it for the long haul as well.

Because Clarke was _it,_ for him.

But he knew that Clarke had been hurt before. He knew that when people came onto her, she would get caught up in the moment, and in the end she would get hurt. She told him about how she had a one-night stand with this Trikru woman during her time away; she was the only one who hadn’t hurt her, betrayed her.

Which is why it is so important that Clarke be the one to initiate it with him. Clarke needed the control; or, to have the ball in her court, as she would say, and Bellamy still doesn’t fully understand that one. Bellamy wouldn’t take the decision away from Clarke. Everything he was doing was because he does love her yes, but he also respects her. He wants to be a good friend, that comforts her and holds her and is there when she needs it. He isn’t going to cross that line for her. He knew where he needed to be: by her side, in whatever form she chose.

So Bellamy is being a tease, and he will continue to be until Clarke decides to do anything about it.

* * *

Bellamy does not mean to go back on his plan. He had been deliberately _not_ kissing Clarke, but now, he couldn’t stop.

Clarke, Lincoln, and himself were on the envoy to Luna’s clan by the sea. Luna may be a part of the coalition, but trade agreements are done specifically with each tribe. And the head of the Sea Clan, he found out, wanted a marriage between her eldest son and Clarke to seal the deal.

She hadn’t told Clarke this, but instead had proposed it to Bellamy, because she knew apparently, from experience, how jarring these requests could be.

Bellamy hadn’t even hesitated when he told her that Clarke was already married. To him.

Luna didn’t press; she just gave an apology, and assured him that they could find another arrangement. But Bellamy could tell that she was suspicious, which, she had every right to be considering, he was in fact, lying to her.

But Clarke was _his_. That at least was clear between them: that she was his, and that he was hers.

But despite knowing that, Bellamy is gets a bit riled up when he sees Luna’s son, Orion, chatting up Clarke later that night.

Bellamy marches up to them, and Orion sees him first, their eyes locking. Clarke turns to follow his gaze just as Bellamy snakes an arm around her waist.

She is already facing him when he leans down to kiss her firmly on the lips. It isn’t chase at all, but he does pull away before she has any real opportunity to either kiss him back or slap him.

“I’m going to turn in for the night,” he tells her, and her eyes are wide and she nods mutely, “Lincoln’s looking for you.” That last part is a lie, but. He can’t have some punk kid - seriously, he may be huge, but he’s younger than Clarke, he’s pretty sure - snooping around trying to find a hole in the story.

The story he reminds himself, that she doesn’t know, because they haven’t had a moment alone since they arrived. Always a member of the Sea Clan with her, or close enough to them that they could overhear and let their _heda_ know the truth.

And they still don’t get a moment alone, the next day. He didn’t like how they were seperated at night, but Lincoln said that men and women slept separately here unless they had children, it was custom.

All these grounders, with all their stupid customs.

And he may not get a moment alone with her, but Orion sure does. Every chance Bellamy gets he goes over to them and interrupts them with a firm kiss to Clarke’s lips. It doesn’t defer Orion though, and he’s forced to increase the intensity every time.

This most recent time, Clarke is kissing him back and she opens her mouth - but then Orion clears his throat, and they have to break apart. There’s someone else there now, he recognizes the guy as Luna’s attendant.

“The healers have requested your presence, Clarke. To show them some new techniques.”

“Yes,” Clarke says, and he notices the rasp in her voice and it sends a chill down his spine, “of course.”

Clarke glances at him one last time before following Orion.

“You’re going to get stabbed if you keep this up,” Lincoln is at his side now.

They are both looking at Clarke across the camp, she’s helping the women make bandages, but she keeps glancing at both of them with eyes narrowed. He can tell she’s getting frustrated.

“I’m hoping for a different reaction,” Bellamy says.

Lincoln clamps a hand onto his shoulder, “she’ll probably do both.”

“And you’re probably right.”

* * *

Lincoln was right.

Bellamy only shared a cabin with Lincoln, and he wasn’t in yet. And the person who stormed into his cabin definitely wasn’t Lincoln.

(He thinks of the last kiss he had given her. She had opened her mouth to his and he had ran the tip of his tongue along the roof of her mouth-)

“What are you doing?” Clarke hisses. “I can barely hold a conversation with anyone without you pouncing on me!”

Bellamy can’t help but snort at the word pouncing, and that only serves to infuriate Clarke more. Bellamy fiddles with the sleeve of his jacket, “Luna wanted you to marry her son as our part of the trade agreement. I may have told her that you were already married. To me.”

Clarke’s eyes widened, but they quickly narrowed again. And then, she punches him in the arm, and splutters, “you couldn’t have just _said something?_ ”

Bellamy rubs his arm. He deserved that, really (and hey, it wasn’t a stabbing, so that’s a plus). “This is literally the first time we’ve been alone-”

“You didn’t need to go all full frontal-”

“I was trying to be _convincing_ -”

“So all that was just for some ruse-”

“No- _no_ ,” Bellamy raises his voice loud enough that Clarke stops talking, “I mean yes _\- partly._ But - no, Clarke. It’s not just because of this - I’ve been wanting to kiss you for _forever-_ ”

“So why haven’t you?” Clarke blurts out and Bellamy goes still.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

And then Clarke is rushing towards him, her hands weaving into his hair and pulling him down so that his lips meet hers. It’s deep and sloppy and heated and perfect and the next thing he knows is that Clarke’s shrugging off her jacket and pushing his off his shoulders. She backs him against the wall and he groans into her mouth. He grinds his leg up against her center and she bites down on his bottom lip in response.

Clarke pulls away for air, but their foreheads are still touching, their panting breaths mixing in the tight space between them.

“You’ve been driving me crazy for _months_ ,” Clarke says and Bellamy lets out a relieved laugh, “But you’re always physical for everyone, and I figured if you wanted this you would have made it happen by now.”

“Do I act like I do with you to anyone else?” He asks. He is a rather tactile person, but nothing comes close to him and Clarke: attached at the hip, or hand, or the heart. “It’s always been you, I’ve just been waiting for you to catch up.”

Clarke huffs, but leans closer so that her lips are barely an inch from his, “I can play catch up.”

Bellamy grins and her mouth is on his again, and she tastes like joy.

* * *

Lincoln had gone ahead because he wanted to get back to Octavia as soon as possible, but also, Bellamy thinks, to give them some privacy.

They are stopped at the tree line outside of Arkadia. Part of him wants to worry, but things between him and Clarke aren’t that different, really. (There’s a lot more kissing involved though, among other things).

“This goes without saying, but,” Bellamy says, stroking circles onto the back of her hand, “I love you.”

Despite all the confirmation and validation from Clarke he’s had those past two days of their envoy, it still feels like a huge weight has been lifted now that those words are out in the open.

(Full-fledged words, with all meanings applied).

Clarke smiles and squeezes his hand. “I know,” she says, and then leans up to kiss him.

**Author's Note:**

> come hang out over on [tumblr](http://bellakeyblake.tumblr.com)!


End file.
